Misplaced Mistake
by Libido
Summary: He hates dreams. He hates sleep. He hates mortality, and everything about it. [Oneshot]


As a child, he was always very envious of everything. He hated kids for having the money and time to go out and lead normal children lives after their school studies. He was jealous of the kids who played with fancy toys and ate good meals while his family rarely ate together at all. He was envious of the parents who had the time and heart to dedicate a portion of their lives to their children, and not block them out as if they were a bad mistake, and ignoring it would solve said problem.

He, on the other hand, was a small child. His blonde hair hung over his eyes, which his mother- who was not much of a mother in retrospect- constantly whined over. She always complained about his hair, yet she never moved her fingers an inch towards the scissors to cut his hair off herself. She merely complained and blamed the child for not taking care of it, then moved on, ignoring him as always. He was left to fend for himself. He would eat dinner sometimes only consisting of cold food that had been prepared on a rare night they had gone out as a family, or the mother had cooked. Normally she doesn't do that.

His father, though. His father was a wonderful man when he was with his son. They had fun, they laughed..His father was the only one that could get the boy to relax for a moment and giggle like a normal child should. All the rest of the time he was quiet, sitting out of the way in his little corner. The father was normally in a lab in the basement of their large mansion, which could easily hold more then the small family of three and a couple of maids that never did their jobs. They had no reason to do their jobs once the boy was done at school.

The boy would come home, do his homework studiously, then begin his chores. His long, long, list of chores- normally the ones the maids didn't want to do. The boy barely had time for himself to play or read, and when he tried, he couldn't. He could never make friends in school- he had got jealous of too many of them and he couldn't be around them. He would turn angry whenever he thought of what they had and what he didn't. If he ever went over to some other kid's house, he would always get angry and upset at how loving and closely-knit the family was. He would, in the end, run home crying, disturb his parents' slumber, and get punished for it.

Of course, the boy didn't even mind the punishing bit. It wasn't his father that punished him, either. It was his mother. His mother took a switch of pine and flicked it nimbly across his bare back- which was as good as any belt. She did it harshly and coldly, not even flinching as his back sometimes opened up and as he whimpered underneath her. The boy would look at the ground stubbornly- not understanding how being loved could end him up in this place. He didn't see the err in wanting to be loved, like all the other children. As far as he knew, the other children didn't get beat when they hugged their parents, or when they came home crying, asking to be tucked in.

He did, though. And soon, his childhood was swept out from underneath him. Soon, he grew quiet. He grew indifferent to the beatings he earned for various things- some he did, and some he didn't. He would frown and put on an indifferent mask. Sometimes his father would watch the beatings, not doing anything, until afterwards. Then, he would come into his room when he thought the boy was asleep and use a red stone to make his back better. The boy would wake up the next day and feel more rejuvenated then normal. He would be limber as if nothing had happened- so he went out and he did his hardest still- trying to be the perfect son. To make his family proud.

One cruel night, as he ran home, he found the door unlocked. So- instead of waking his parents up and surely receiving another beating, he slid in like a snake and closed the door. He glanced around the dimly-lit room and decided to surprise his parents in the morning. He went to the lab and he slid in, looking around. He had never been allowed in the basement before, and he decided he better make good use of his time. He hurried around- sweeping, mopping, cleaning. He eventually was all done when he spied a pretty shiny substance. He walked to it, like moth to a flame, entranced. He looked at it. A metal-looking substance stood liquidated in a little beaker. He didn't know how metal could be liquid, though. So, he took the beaker and dipped his finger in to test it.

Shuddering at the cold sensation that passed through him, he looked at his pinky- now coated in the metal, shiny substance. He didn't want to wipe it on his clothes, because then his parents would surely find out- likewise for wiping it on the table or floor. So, he did the only thing his nine year old brain could do- he popped the pinky into his mouth after smelling it cautiously. He swallowed and felt a wave of heat wash over his body. He shivered- bumps coming to his skin. The golden-haired boy suddenly felt weak, and he stumbled, falling into the table and dropping the beaker all over his clean floor. He stumbled once more and fell- knocking his head on the corner of the table. He was only awake for a couple of moments before he faded into darkness.

When he woke up, he was never the same. He didn't remember anything from that night except running home and cleaning like mad. He remembered going into his dad's lab, but otherwise...nothing. When he sat up, pain raced up his chest and he yelped, biting his lip. He closed his eyes shut and opened them, looking to the side and into the mirror. He cringed and rubbed his head, "What...What hit me?" he asked himself softly.

"Welcome back" said a cold voice from the bedroom door, "So. Tell me..."

He looked up through his damp, gold hair as he cringed, "Um..Mom?" he asked, already knowing who it would be.

"What the HELL did you think you were doing?" said the now enraged voice, accompanied by a slap which made his eyes roll.

"I..I don't know! I wanted to surprise you..!" he felt tears stinging his eyes.

"Stop crying!" she ordered and held out her hand, "Eat these"

"Wh..What?" he asked and took what she held. Small red rocks, smooth in texture. He trusted his mom, and he cautiously slipped one into his mouth. His eyes widened as he body felt warm again and ate more, savoring the taste, "They're really good!" he chirped. Suddenly- he knew what happened to him. As if it was all happening again...

-!-

A green haired child, presumably in his teens, lurched out of bed, eyes wide. He panted and looked around the small room as if for the first time. He quickly caught his breath from the dream, leaning his head on his hand and looking at the sheets of his bed, frowning deeply, his eyes looking trouble. He suddenly cursed, moving and standing to his feet as he ran a hand distractedly through his brackish-colored hair.

He began muttering and pacing in front of a large window. He was supposed to be concentrating, not thinking about her, or..THAT. He growled and punched the wall in his fury- creating a fist-sized hole in said wall. He squeezed his eyes shut as the moon was covered up by cloud cover as he leaned his head on the cool concrete wall, sighing softly as to get his nerves under control, which still buzzed from his dream.

His frown deepened as he walked out of the room angrily, giving up on his thoughts and sleep.

That is why he hated sleep. He hated dreaming.


End file.
